Eidolon
by Chiisarin
Summary: He never was good at naming things.  [Roxith for Mahou]


He is called Errand Boy.

That's what everyone called him as he skated through the town, doing all sorts of chores for people. It wasn't much, but he made the best of his life. And besides, he was _good _at skateboarding.

"Errand boy, you don't suppose you deliver this package?"

At the sound of his name, he screeches to a stop turns, finding the sea-salt ice cream stand owner holding out a brown package. He takes and put it under his arm.

"Sure. Where to?" He asks.

"Seifer."

He twitches at the name, but keeps his face carefully blank. He nods.

"Alright."

And he's off.

* * *

He loves the wind. 

Something about it made him feel…close to nature. As gentle strands blow through his hair, he can vaguely remember countless lines of poetry, images of movies, symbolism of how everything was so _so _beautiful…and so overdramatic.

He concentrates only on the simple. The wind is blowing. And he likes it.

As he slows down to turn at the corner, the wind dies down…_music._

He stops completely, his ears perking, searching for the sound.

It's music. Broken pieces of music floating into his ears. A girl. Voice. Guitar.

"I don't want another…"

Pause. Strum.

"…pretty…"

Pause. Strum.

"…face."

And he finds her.

In a little back alley, there's a young woman playing on a guitar. Her face is scrunched in concentration, focusing intently on the fingerboard as she figures out the chords. And he watches, as she slowly continues on in the song.

"I don't want…"

Pause. Strum.

"Just anyone…"

Pause.

"To hold…"

Pause…Stop.

And with a start, he realizes that she's looking at him.

_Staring_ at him.

He can hear so many words in that gaze. Just lines and lines and lines of words and he can't understand any of it. Just words. Just words.

"…A-ah, sorry." He mumbles quickly.

And like the wind, he passes by.

* * *

Twilight has set in. His day comes to an end. 

With a tired, but satisfied walk, he reaches his little home in the back alley…She's there, leaning against the wall.

That woman. Hippie woman. With the guitar and the words…

He stops, just standing there.

And like magic, she seems to sense him and looks up into his eyes...that stare. That stare of meaningless, wordless words that he wished he could understand, that stare that stares into him, flows through him…

* * *

He wasn't sure how they started talking. Perhaps it was him, as he said hello. 

Or perhaps it was her who started speaking first with her stare.

He always knew he was much too self-conscious.

* * *

They sit next to each other, hunched against the wall. Her guitar is in his hands as he practices the chords she taught him. She just watches, a smile on her face. 

"…What your name?" She suddenly asks.

He blinks taking a few moments to process her question. Then, with a sheepish smile, he answers.

"Well…I like to run errands, so people tend to call me Errand Boy."

She frowns, her eyebrows scrunching together like broccoli.

"But I want to know your _real _name." She emphasizes, and for a moment, he is lost.

_Real _name?

…Does he have one?

He leans back, his head touching hard cement.

"…How about you give me one?" He suggests.

She tilts her head curiously, and wondering (_wonderful_) smile on her face.

"Give you a name?" She repeats, her voice positively delighted and positively confused. He just shrugs simply.

"Yeah…If you could sum me up into one name, what would it be?"

And to his surprise, it takes her barely a second to find a name.

"Cloudlet."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Cloudlet?" He repeats. "What, do I remind you of a shadow of the sky?"

She chuckles at his metaphor, but shakes her head.

"No…It's just that your hair reminds me of a cloud. It's so fluffy!" And before he can escape, she's reached over and ruffled his hair, a wicked smile on her face.

With a scowl, he bats her hand away.

"Oy! Don't touch the hair!"

She withdraws her hand but continues to grin.

"Alright then. Give me a name."

"Me."

"Yes you. Or, I could just start patting your hair—"

"Olive." He cuts in before she can say anything else. "That's your name, Olive."

She blinks.

"Olive?" She repeats, intrigued. "Why?"

"Your eyes. They're green…like an olive."

She looks to him, an inquisitive look on her face.

"...Interesting."

And for a while, she says nothing more.

* * *

"Oh…Is it twelve already? Ehehe…I should be going. It was nice talking to you." 

She stands up and starts to leave when he finds himself calling out to her.

"Hey…"

She stops, and turns around.

"Yes?"

And suddenly, he feels like he's meeting her all over again, and they're all strangers. That stare, that look, that glance, that _smile _in her eyes…

"My…my name's Roxas. What's yours?"

And in his mind, he can see daydreams, daydreams that he'll meet this hippie woman again, that he'll call out her name and she'll look at him and smile and everything will be alright and he'll understand…

"Aerith. My name is Aerith."

He continues to watch her as she walks away.

It's all shadows, shadows of nothing.

* * *

AN: ...Oh dear. I'm afraid Roxith just isn't my pairing. But I wanted to give Mahou a Halloween present back because she wrote for me the awesomest gangtah Clouffie ever. (Yes, I command you all to check out wrathofbrett's F'schizzle. And J O L T.)

Yeah...I think I'm going to hide behind the rose bushes before anyone starts coming after me for killing Aerith and Roxas' character.


End file.
